Chapter 8
Ethan groaned loudly, his fingers twitching among the scattered diving masks and soft fins. He slowly pushed himself up onto his knees, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the plush carpet. His expensive tuxedo was completely ruined, his nose crushed and bleeding heavily from Cesare’s flawless counterpunch.
"You're a dead man, Cesare," Ethan slurred, glaring up with pure, unadulterated hatred. "My father knows we are here. If we don't walk out of this museum tonight, the Cole family will burn Boston to the ground."
"Let them try," Cesare replied smoothly, not breaking his intense gaze. "Your father is a coward. Who hides behind his supply lines. Without you and Vanessa manipulating my son, your family has no leverage."
"We have the ports!" Ethan spat, struggling to his feet and swaying dangerously. "We control the docks!"
"Not anymore," Cesare stated.
He reached into his unbuttoned jacket pocket and pulled out his encrypted smartphone. He tapped a single button and put the phone on speaker, holding it up for the entire room to hear.
"Marco," Cesare said into the phone.
"Yes, Boss," a gravelly voice echoed through the speaker, accompanied by the faint sound of sirens in the distance. "The docks are secured. We moved on the Cole warehouses ten minutes ago. They surrendered without a single shot fired. We have their ledgers and their shipping manifests."
Ethan’s eyes widened in sheer, absolute horror. "No... that's impossible. You couldn't have known."
"I have known about your sister's fake pregnancy. For three weeks," Cesare revealed, his voice devoid of triumph, only cold, terrifying certainty. "I have been watching you, Ethan. I let you walk into this gala tonight. So I could dismantle your entire operation in one synchronized strike."
"You played us," Diane whispered from the floor, realizing the true, terrifying depth of her brother's intellect and patience.
"I let you expose yourselves," Cesare corrected. "I needed to see who would stand with me. And who would stand against my granddaughter."
He hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he looked around the room, absolute silence reigning once more.
"Julian," Cesare said.
"Yes, Father?" Julian answered, his voice trembling violently.
"Take off your tuxedo jacket," Cesare ordered.
May you like
Julian didn't hesitate. He stripped off his expensive tailored jacket, holding it awkwardly in his hands.
"Wrap it around your daughter," Cesare commanded. "And if you ever. Let another living soul. Disrespect her in your presence. I will strip you of the Lombardi name permanently."
